


Headaches and soft words

by queseyo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Headaches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queseyo/pseuds/queseyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows the pain that they give him will never stop. And that's fine with him, he can handle their taunts and their memories. He doesn't need any help, right? Wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headaches and soft words

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this headcanon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/63522) by http://sadstuck-and-headcanons.tumblr.com/. 



> This was supposed to be longer. It feels so short.

  **Narrator: Be Dave.**

         You are now DAVE STRIDER. Or the KNIGHT OF TIME, if you prefer that title.      

         The voices in your head make you curl up tighter in a ball, hoping they’ll leave you be. However, you know they won’t stop, and will continue to taunt you. Your head’s going to fucking explode.

         _You could’ve saved them_ , one of the many Doomed Daves’ voices whispers. _If only you didn’t go back and try to save Bro._

         _Such a useless Knight_ , another incarnation of you hisses, _Did you really believe it was possible to save all of them? To save every single last incarnation of your friends? What a failure you are._

         _Burden,_ a third voice spits out in disgust, _you’re a burden to everyone with your stupid headaches and your ridiculous “cool attitude”._

         “Shut up.” You hiss through clenched teeth, your hands holding your head in pain. “Shut the fuck up. It’s not my fault.”

         You should be used to this; the endless torment of your past selves that come with the excruciatingly painful headaches yet still, after months of dealing with this horrible pain, you sometimes succumb to it and pass out from trying to drown out your past selves’ evil voices. You can’t help it, sometimes you have to give in. You hate when you do that.

         No matter how hard you plead, you can’t seem to get a damn break. You just want them to leave you alone for one minute. Just sixty seconds, that’s all you ask. Sixty seconds of _peace_ without them piping up with their snide comments about how you’re a _constant failure_ to everyone around you.

         The trolls, with their own issues, leave you alone, which is fine by you. However, Rose is different. She’s keeping more of an eye on you than she usually does (which, frankly, sometimes starts to piss you off). You can take care of yourself. You don’t need anyone’s help.

         _That’s a blatant lie_ , a voice whispers as your head pounds. _You and I both know it_. This voice is different. It is less harsh than the other variations of you.

         “Go away.” You reply, tears springing into your eyes. _Don’t you_ dare _cry_ , you think. “Please—Just leave me alone.”

         What the hell is this? Have you really stooped so low as to _beg_ your incarnations to get out of your head? Pathetic, you think, but worth a try.

         _We can’t leave, Dave, you know that. You’re stuck with us forever._

         This is, well as you like to call him, Alpha Dave. His pain is the worst. His pain makes you stay like this, curled in a ball with your hands over your ears for hours, hoping to block out all the screams and the images that race through your head. He sometimes makes you wish that you never inserted the disk into your computer all those months ago. He makes you wish you had never played Sburb.

         _That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, Dave? To blame me, who essentially is_ you _, for all your problems_ , Alpha Dave says cynically.

         The voices increase in volume and you feel like your head’s going to split into two. They are screaming, laughing at you. So many memories, some of which you don’t even remember happening (though you know they’re real), flash behind your tightly shut eyelids.

         “Stop.” you clench your fists and raise your voice. “STOP! Leave me alone for five seconds! Give me some time without you torturing me. That’s all I ask.” Your voice cracks as you finish the last sentence.

         The laughter ceases abruptly and the memories disappear. You open your eyes slowly and unclench your fists. Your breathing comes out in rasps, as if your body remembers how to breathe.

         You look in the direction of your door as you hear three sharp, insistent raps on it. You know it’s Rose. She probably heard you screaming and came to investigate.

         “Go away, Rose.” You call out, slowly getting up from the bed.

         Nobody replies from the other side of your door. The three sharp knocks repeat themselves. You frown as the knocks come a third time. Why can’t she just leave?

         “Leave, Rose. I don’t need your help.” You spit out, anger beginning to boil in your veins.

         After minutes of listening to that stubborn knocking, it finally stops. You sigh in relief and run a hand through your hair.

         You’re fine. You’re obviously fine. There’s nothing wrong. You can take care of yourself. Everything’s fine.

         _Liar_ , a voice in your head states, _nothing is right with you around_.

 

**Dave: Be Rose from a couple minutes ago.**

         As previously stated, you are now Rose from a couple minutes ago.

         You have been worried for your brother. You have been watching his movements and actions and have noticed that he seems more guarded. You have also noticed that he locks himself in his room for countless hours.

         On multiple occasions, you tried asking him what was wrong. He kept telling you the same answer over and over: _Just a small headache, nothing that I can’t handle_.

         Eventually, you got fed up with the same _obvious_ lie that he kept giving you. You decided to follow him whenever he left and lean against his door, listening to what was happening.

         You wrote everything down, from screams of anguish to the begging and to some extent, crying. You wanted to comfort him but knew, that if he found out you had been spying on him, he’d probably close himself off more than he already had been doing.

         There were countless nights in which you sat in the bed in your room, reading and rereading the notes you had taken. You tried to analyze them as hard as you could and finally, after hours of pouring over notes and charts and diagrams, figured it out.

         And that reason is exactly why you’re standing in front of his door, knocking on his door, hoping he’ll let you in. You try for a second time and hear him tell you to leave. You roll your eyes in frustration.

         You try a third time, just in case. Third time’s the charm, right? You flinch as you hear Dave say that he doesn’t need your help. The words stab through your heart. But you _do_ need it Dave, you think. Besides, what are siblings for if not to help each other?

         You take out your pad and pencil that you keep with at all times (just in case anything important pops up). Scribbling a short note, you slid it under the door.

         In mere minutes, the note returns. _I can handle it,_ is the reply.

         “Like you handled your brother’s death? Just like that, right, Dave?” You spit out, finally getting this pointless conversation somewhere. You’re not going to stand here all night passing notes through a crack under a door.

         “Don’t mention him, Rose. _Don’t_.”

         “Or what, Dave? What happens if I _do_?” You can’t take this anymore. You just want to help him. You didn’t mean to mention his brother’s death but…

          The door creaks open and you can see a bit of your brother’s face. His shades are off and he’s staring at you, anger and grief in his crimson eyes. “Get in.” He says roughly and opens the door fully.

         You slip into his room before he decides to change his mind. The door shuts behind you with a _click_. Dave walks over to his bed and sits on it. He raises an eyebrow at you as if asking you what you’re still doing standing up. The anger and grief is gone from his eyes; the mask of coolness is back up. You sigh and walk over to the bed. It dips slightly under your brother and your combined weight.

         He crosses his legs. You do the same. He sighs and rubs his eyes. “How long have you been listening?”

         “How long have you known that?” you reply without missing a beat.

         “Weeks, Rose. I guess I just knew you were outside listening, taking notes. Brotherly instincts.” He laughs but it’s bitter.

         You decide not to take notes this time. You throw your pad and pencil across the room and put your hands hesitantly on his shoulders. You’re glad when he doesn’t flinch away.

         “I’m not here to scold you.” you say truthfully.

         He laughs the same bitter laugh again and pushes your hands away. He eyes you warily. “Sure, Rose. _Sure._ Keep telling yourself that.”

         He stares at you and you stare back. You watch each other for several minutes. Eventually, Dave blinks and lowers his gaze. You follow it and notice he’s staring at his sneakers, as if they’re suddenly the most interesting thing on this entire meteor.

         The dense, palpable silence between the both of you is finally broken when Dave speaks. “They cause me so much pain.” He begins softly.

         You know whom he’s talking about. It took you weeks after weeks of looking through your research. You had a hunch that it was his past selves but you weren’t sure. Finally, after waiting for so long, he confirms it.

         You nod, keeping your mouth shut as thoughts race through your head. _Keep going_ , you want to say. _Tell me everything. I won’t judge you_.

         He tells you everything that you more or less already now, but it’s nice that he reminds you of what you had written down. He starts with the voices, how they constantly taunt him for what could range from mere seconds to countless hours. And how the headaches and their physical and mental pain keep him up. How he’s unable to go to sleep because of them. Because he’s scared they’ll keep taunting him in his dreams. The dark shadows under his eyes prove that.

         He keeps going, telling you everything that he can think of. Your mind is processing all of this information at lighting-like speed. For a second, you stop listening to him and space out. When you return from your deep thinking, you realize the mistake you’ve committed even if it’s just for one second.

         He’s stopped talking altogether. His eyes are tightly shut and he’s got his hands over his ears. He keeps whispering the same sentences over and over again. “Stop. Stop. STOP! PLEASE.” He’s begging now.

         The pain he’s feeling breaks your heart. You wish you could do _something_ to help him. You wish you could magically make the pain that he’s feeling vanish. You wish you banish it from this world and make it never come back.

         But you _can’t_.

         And that’s the most terrible truth of all.

         You have to do something, you think, even if it’s just singing to him or humming. You need to do something to calm him down.

         A memory of your childhood flashes in your head. You had just woken up from a terrible nightmare, something about playing a very frightening game and began sobbing and calling for your mother. She had come rushing to your room and held you in her arms, whispering a lullaby you think she had made up.

         You shift in the bed and wrap your arms tightly around Dave. He’s shaking now, tears streaming down his cheeks and getting your orange pajama-God-tier-however-to-describe-it wet. Right now, however, you couldn’t care less.

         You hum softly as you search your brain for the lyrics that your mother used to sing to you. After a couple minutes, you find them and begin singing softly to your brother.

         “Hush, my child. Everything will be alright. Soon the night will pass and day will come. And I’ll be here right beside you, keeping you safe and warm.” You are surprised at how calm your voice sounds as you sing.

         “Hush, my child, you’re safe in my arms. Hush, my child, don’t you cry. The sun will rise at the crack of dawn and I’ll be here to keep you safe. Sleep, my child. You are safe here.”

         When the song is over, your brother has stopped shaking. A faint smile twitches at the corner of your lips and push some of his white-blond hair from his face.

         He slowly moves out of your grasp and sits up. He grabs his shades and puts them on. He nods once, then again. “Thank you, Rose.” He smiles and then wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You hug him back.

         “Anytime, Dave. Whenever you need to talk, tell me.”

         “I promise.”

 

         Good. I’ll always be here for you, Dave. Remember that.


End file.
